


Delicate Scream

by Pantakes



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ableist Language, Bad English, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantakes/pseuds/Pantakes
Summary: Akechi traced the rim of the glass with his nail. He never noticed it made such a particular sound, a very delicate scream, its vibrations tracking back to his bones. Few things touched him that way. It was too bad, really. It was as if he was lacking the capabilities to open himself to the beauty this world had to offer. A hole-in the wall café. The boy with a wicked smile. Comfortable silence. He lifted his fingers –February 2nd, night. The jazz jin, Kichijoji.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	Delicate Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fanfic ever, I’m still crying every time I’m listening to "No more what ifs" and really got into Shuake because of Royal, so I was trying to channel these feelings into *vaguely gestures at fic* something. Enjoy! 
> 
> Please read the tags closely for content warnings.

The jazz jin was the right spot to fade into. Low light that obscured the figures laughing about their daily struggles, drinks that loosened the tongues of the academics that kept their opinions about superiors at bay. Music carried by a singer that touched the words just right, the voice low enough that he could ignore it when he drowned in thoughts of his own, loud enough so he could come up for air. Air that sometimes hurt in its clarity.

Muhen didn’t say anything when Akechi asked for the liquor. The ruthless sting of the whisky settled right below his heart, warmed up the abandoned flesh. Just a few hours. Just a few hours more, then he could leave this godforsaken life behind.

He had wanted to take care of it himself. It was the least this world could do for him. He was never asked if he’d like to be born, so he might at least decide when he was going to die. But of course, that wouldn’t be an option. The hand he was dealt rigged yet again. Because the Phantom Thieves were weak. Their personas talked big about broken shackles, facing adversaries with their true selves supporting them. But as they moved in their well-trained formations, their safety relying on quick glances and ambiguous gestures, all he could see was chains holding them back - chains Maruki could easily strengthen if he´d present them with more of his delicious fakes.

If he’d end himself, there was no guarantee they’d beat him. And he would have to come back because some spineless idiot would conjure up a perfect version of him, a doll made to please, a doll with a smile that wouldn’t cut.

He would end this. Just a few hours. Just a few hours more.

The singer left the stage. Akechi traced the rim of the glass with his nail. He never noticed it made such a particular sound, a very delicate scream, its vibrations tracking back to his bones. Few things touched him that way. It was too bad, really. It was as if he was lacking the capabilities to open himself to the beauty this world had to offer. A hole-in-the-wall café. The boy with a wicked smile. Comfortable silence. He lifted his fingers –

\- put a lid on the thoughts, a 2000 yen bill on the table. Caught the singer whispering to the pianist off-stage. They were discussing passages they wanted to change up the next time they were performing, cues that hadn’t worked well this time. They played this song many times he’d been in the jazz club, yet they were still passionate about the smallest details. He caught himself staring at them, a hint of admiration next to his heart, not quite touching the strings.

His thoughts shifted to Kurusu again, his words beckoning him to set a new horizon. He would draw it himself. Draw it himself and end it. End it before he got burned.

The light may not take any step further than this.

* * *

Akira’s breath transpired in the cold air, a touch of white in between the colored lights of Kichioji, lanterns muddled by the low mist. The last train had left ten minutes ago, the people stuck in the quarters they’d spent the last minutes in, the night life started to blossom. Groups of university students looking through the prices for karaoke, a driving school student carrying his study materials into a 24/7 diner. A businesswoman looking for a nap in a love hotel, trying to avoid the bouncers handing out purple flecked flyers for a special bar tour.

The blue light of the velvet room. Lavenza looking at him, knowing. 

Someone at the steamed bun shop had dropped their wallet. The coins were jumping against the stone, loud clicks and laughs. Every sound hurt. His breath quickened.

He was never going to catch Akechi at this rate. He should’ve followed him right away, instead he had spent most of the night in Leblanc, staring at the ceiling, the cup of coffee, the ceiling, the cat, the ceiling, the coffee cup, the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling. It didn’t came crashing down when he thought it would, but the feeling lingered. It drove him into this neighborhood, searching for the unmovable force in between the lively quivers. The voice that he couldn’t resist, its truth that drove a searing hot pain into his stomach, one finger at a time, until the whole hand was buried in his stomach, twisting and turning it.

Akira heard a bruised sigh as soon as he turned into the alley. His feet were moving faster than his head could process.

“Akechi”, he said.

A scowl. A click of his tongue. Finally, he met his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Every bitter word was a drop for Akira’s thirst. “I needed to see you.”

“I don’t”, Akechi said and turned around, “Go home.”

“No”, Akira said, his voice growing tighter, “I’m worried.”

“Fine. You make me sick”, Akechi said, staring back at him, his words sharpened with slivers of anger. “I’m tired of you changing your opinion on your self-righteous whims. Leave.”

Akira swallowed. He took a step forward. “I don’t want to do this tomorrow, so I –”

“I don’t care if you want to do it or not”, Akechi’s hands were on his collar, his spit slicing through the air. “You won’t be able to say a single word. I will crush your windpipe as soon as I hear anything suggesting we follow the plans of this goddamn madman.”

“That’s … that´s not …”, he struggled against Akechi’s hands that had pushed him against the wall. “I …”, the grip loosened a bit, he took a deep breath, bracing himself to spill out everything that needed to be said, “That’s not why I came. I just didn’t want to talk about it when the others are around. I came to see you because I was worried about you. I wanted to see how you were coping.”

The grip against Akira’s chest tightened again. “What?” Light was caught in Akechi’s eyes, two comets that were ready to come crashing down. A stifled sound passed his throat, a paper-thin layer of ice ready to threatened to break with a single caressing touch.

“No ...”

Akechi’s fingers brushed his lower lip, but what opened them was the cut of his gaze, the desperate glint in the dark. The kiss forced his head to the wall, the red bricks grinding against coat and hair. Akechi’s touch melted the despair that had stiffened his shoulders, his hair tickling his frozen ears. Akira felt like Akechi was closing in with every heartbeat, shielding every inch of his skin from the winter chill, replacing it with a heat he couldn’t endure much longer. His gloved fingers clawed into his sides, searching for something to hold onto.

Just as he was falling into the sensation, drowning out the sharp sounds of the city around him with the ruthless beating of his heart, he was pushed away, the cold enveloping him yet again.

“I hate you”, Akechi said. His gaze moved past Akira.

Akira turned around, but there was just the brick wall.

From the wall to the ground. “You make me sick.” His voice was steady, but Akira could see him shivering.

Back to Akira. “I hate you. I-”

Finally. The words frayed at the edges. Akechi hid his face in his hands. “Why? Why are you here?”

Akira stood his ground. He had to see this through.

"Why? You .." Akechi’s sobs were layered with growls, reaching deeper into the well with every attempt to hold them back. “Why are you appearing out of nowhere when I just want to have a few hours for myself? Why can’t you leave me alone for a _fucking single night_?! Do you have to force yourself into the last moments of my worthless life? Your arrogance really knows no bounds”, he forced out a rattled chuckle, “our dear leader, yes!"

Akechi’s hands fell from his face, the lines twisting around his eyes a mask of scars. "Always right by your side to humiliate you one last time, just when you thought you might have just gotten rid of him for the –“

Akira threw his arms around him. Forcefully cut him off. Yes, he had forced himself onto him. Yes, he was doing it again. Yes. He couldn’t stop. He was a leader with limited powers. He was not equipped with the tools to watch the boy he loved break down before him, he did not have the right word to comfort those standing at death’s door. He just had his body, his breath, the knowledge that he was living. The belief that it would be alright.

It seemed to soothe him. He held onto that belief. He held onto Akechi until he was reduced to ebb and flow under his fingers, his breath a gentle stream of sand running through a clock, his body the rise of the sea.

It felt very raw, that sound. Human. Akechi was a step further along the way, Akira thought for a second.

You couldn’t practice the hardest part, but Akira always toyed with the impossible. So he tried.

He let him go.


End file.
